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Sophia sat up abruptly, her heart racing and her nightgown damp with sweat. It was the fourth time tonight she had woken this way—not to mention the restless, sweat-soaked nights that had preceded it.

Gasping for breath, her hand instinctively reached beneath the pillow on the other side of the bed. When her fingers brushed the cold steel of the knife she had begun keeping there since the night of the Moreland ball, she exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. Gripping the hilt, she slipped quietly from her bed to check her room once more.

First, she padded to the door to confirm it was securely locked and that the chest she had dragged in front of it was still in place. Next, she moved carefully through the darkness, her fingers grazing the three china figurines she had balanced along the edge. They were still set as she had left them—ready to fall and shatter if anyone attempted to force the door.

Once she was certain the entrance was barred, Sophia made her way carefully to the windows across the room. She checked each one, ensuring they were securely locked. On each windowsill, a figurine had been placed to fall and sound the alarm if Cecil or Lord Leech attempted to climb through.

This had become her nightly routine. She stayed awake until the early hours, securing her room and then rechecking it again and again. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her—deeper than anything she had ever experienced before—but she refused to let her guard down. She was determined not to wake up as a captive, carried off in Lord Leech’s carriage to the Scottish border.

Sophia climbed back into bed, her eyes wide with fear and her thoughts racing.

The problem she faced now was that Cecil’s plan could be enacted at any time—tomorrow, six months from now, or even next year—and it would still work to his advantage. It was not a matter of whether she could hold out and defend herself forever. Eventually, she would let her guard down, and Cecil would only need a single opportunity to carry out his scheme.

With a willing conspirator aiding him, the stakes were even higher. Her freedom—and perhaps even her life—could be in jeopardy.

As long as she remained unmarried, she remained a target for such a plot. The weight of that realization pressed down on her, but she vowed to stay vigilant and seek a way to protect herself before it was too late.

If she approached her uncle to reveal Cecil’s plans, the viscount would likely insist she marry immediately to ensure her safety. While his intentions would be protective, such a decision would further curtail her freedom.

Even if she did not marry, there was little to stop Cecil from continuing to plot her abduction to Gretna Green. Her dowry would still be paid out in the event of her marriage, and there was nothing her uncle could do to prevent that. Cecil had calculated his scheme well—she feared he had discovered that her consent might not even be required for his plan to succeed. Though Sophia was unclear on the legal intricacies, she understood enough to know that a wedding in Scotland, officiated by someone willing to ignore any hesitation from the bride, could make Cecil’s scheme a reality.

None of these possible outcomes were appealing. The common thread running through them all was her lack of control—her inability to choose her own course in life.

For the first time, Sophia allowed herself to admit what she had never dared to before. She wished … she wished … With a deep, trembling breath, she faced the truth: she wished she had a protector.

A husband—not one drawn to her for her dowry, but someone who truly cared for her. Someone who did not imbibe to excess, like her father or brother. A man who possessed his own wealth and strength, someone who did not need her fortune but wanted her. Someone who could make her feel safe.

Most importantly, she wished for someone of her own choosing. Someone who could stand between her and her brother’s schemes, shielding her from the danger he posed.

Her thoughts drifted to a certain devilish earl. Did Saunton drink to excess? Would he be willing to stop drinking altogether if she asked it of him? Surely he had no interest in her dowry? From all accounts, he had walked away from the wealthiest debutantes of last Season after a single dance, apparently not having found what—who—he was looking for.

And now, he was expressing interest in her. The exact amount of her dowry remained a closely guarded secret, which gave her some hope that his attention might be genuine. Perhaps she should hear him out, as he had requested.

Sophia’s nerves were worn thin after enduring the last few days. Four nights and three days of unrelenting strain had left her feeling utterly depleted. She did not know how much longer she could endure this pressure, especially with no clear plan to counter her brother’s relentless scheming.

For now, she needed to keep her wits about her and consider every option carefully.

Richard was anxious to see Miss Sophia Hayward again. He had thought of her many times since their last dance—the young woman with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, so different from anyone he had ever known. There was a quality about her that intrigued him, an intuition that life with her would never be dull.

Standing at the top of the steps leading into the Yardley ballroom, he scanned the crowd of dandies, debutantes, and watchful mamas, seeking her fair, oval face and distinctive red-blonde hair.

He could not quite name what it was about her that stirred his senses, but since that night on the balcony, she had occupied his thoughts. He found himself wanting to know her better, to uncover the layers of her sharp wit and spirited nature.

Finally, his gaze landed on her. She stood across the ballroom near the terrace doors, her aunt at her side. For a moment, he allowed himself to take in the sight of her, noting how poised she seemed amidst the chatter and chaos of the gathering.

Drawing a steadying breath, he descended the steps, intent on making his way to her. Perhaps tonight, she would be more receptive to his suit.

Sophia scanned the ballroom, searching for Lord Saunton. Would he be here as he had promised? After another sleepless night, she felt an almost desperate need to see him. She needed to know if his interest in her was genuine—her very safety might depend on it.

As her gaze swept over the crowd, her heart sank. There, moving through the throng, was her brother. And beside him, Lord Leech. They were headed directly toward her.

Sophia’s pulse quickened. If she wished to dance with Saunton tonight, she could not afford to refuse a dance with Lord Leech, as doing so would require her to sit out the subsequent dances for propriety’s sake.

Thinking quickly, she stepped behind Aunt Christiana, who was speaking to another lady, and hastily penciled Lord Saunton onto her dance card. Then, before doubt could creep in, she added his name for the next dance as well.

Now, all she had to do was find him—quickly—before Lord Leech reached her.

“Aunt?”